


Relieving The Tension

by Banana_daiquiri



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Humor, Risque - Freeform, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_daiquiri/pseuds/Banana_daiquiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose watches the Doctor tinker with the console, contemplating how genuine his lack of sexuality is, especially given his risqué faux pas from a few days earlier.  NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's a little thing that blipped into my head. I couldn't resist running with it. Enjoy! :D Reviews always welcome.

Rose was sitting on the jump seat in the console room, absent-mindedly twirling a messy lock of blonde hair between her index finger and her thumb as she watched the Doctor tinker. She often mused to herself that there was no way the TARDIS could ever be in need of such constant repair--if it was, it was surely the worst ship ever. But then, some people drank to escape their problems, and some read books, and some...well, engaged in physical distraction. At the end of the day Rose would never question what he was doing or why, simply because the Doctor pulled the funniest faces while he worked--and, occasionally and oddly, some pretty sexy ones too--and she loved to watch.

So here they were, engaging in their typical version of down time. And though Rose was studying the Doctor, it was herself she was contemplating. She was wondering...what _was_ it, exactly, that made the Doctor so sexy to her? Was it, ironically, his seeming utter _lack_ of sexuality? He obviously had some _concept_ of sexuality, and understood what made human females tick, and he surely flirted enough--though whether he understood what that did to her or not was a question she could (and did) ruminate on endlessly. But yes, in that vein of pondering--did flirting indicate some interest in sex? In wanting to put his academic knowledge of the human female to the test, as clinical as that sounded? Because after what he'd said the other day, he certainly was knowledgeable.

She raised an eyebrow remembering, trying hard not to smirk and failing.

The Doctor went on tinkering obliviously, which was just as well.

Rose flashed back to what had happened a few days earlier, played it over in her mind again, relishing it; it wasn't often she saw the Doctor flustered, particularly over subject matter she very much wanted to delve into with him further. 

It had been a quiet day, and days that started off so quietly were rare and usually meant that the Doctor was in a studious mood and needed to go play with wires or privately blow something up and pretend he hadn't, or read a book. That's what she caught him doing on that particular day when she got bored and went looking for him: reading. She found him in the library, laughing his head off.

She patiently waited for him to take note of her. She knew he knew she was there; it was extraordinarily difficult to take the Doctor by surprise, even when she tried. He was quickly scanning a book with an open-mouth smile of delight on his face; probably some scientific theory on the effect of gravity on cats in Plutoch 4, or some other such rubbish she'd never understand. But, as always, his smile was infectious and Rose felt her whole body glow as she took it in and subconsciously mirrored it. Moments like this it was so easy to believe things would always be this way. Even if he never kissed her she'd be happy if she could go on seeing him all lit up like this.

These romantic thoughts contrasted so harshly with what the Doctor was actually laughing about that it was quite humorous, as it turned out.

"You know," he began, barely glancing up at her before his eyes returned to the book and he launched into a typical breathless monologue, "I actually met Freud, but this is great. HA. We had cocktails together once--imagine, cocktails with Freud--but he never explained this theory to me. Apparently, in the Victorian era, hysterical women were vaginally stimulated to relieve their tensions and ease their symptoms. Otherwise it was thought that via abstinence the accumulation of female ejaculate would lead to a buildup which would release as a toxic gas, which is where the term 'the vapors' comes from, that little affliction associated with American southern women exclaiming and fanning themselves...anyway, Freud stopped the practice, didn't contribute to it, but who would have this knowledge and not share it??!" His voice rose incredulously on this last bit. He was sprawled on his belly on the floor, still reading, completely unaware of Rose's slack-jawed expression. He kicked his cream-colored trainers back and forth in the air like a kid, caught up in his mirth. "Imagine, Rose," he went on, unstoppable, "if every time we had an adventure together and you got a bit upset that I grabbed a vibrator, strapped you to a chair, and--" 

His voice died out suddenly, as if her silence had interrupted him, and he blinked a few times--a quick flutter. Mouth open, he looked up, no doubt seeing his current emotion reflected in her face. Their eye contact remained unbroken for a very long, very painful moment, during which he flushed a shade of red she'd never seen on him. He looked down, scratching the back of his neck with the hand not holding his book, continuing with "aaaah...." He coughed inelegantly.

Rose's mouth finally closed. She came back to her senses and cleared her throat. He peeked up at her sheepishly, almost fearfully. Rose made a sudden, wicked decision to milk the moment for all it was worth. Throw an even bigger spanner in the works, so to speak. 

She straightened and shrugged. "Mmm well, maybe every time we come back to the TARDIS after an adventure I take care of that myself," she said lightly. She turned to leave, pretending she didn't see his eyes widen and his mouth fall open in an expression of shock she found utterly delicious. There. She'd finally surprised him.

Rose bit her lips now as she sat on the jump seat, remembering that look, feeling rather chuffed. She liked to think she might have caused the Doctor a little hysteria of his own that day.

The subject under scrutiny finally slid out from under the console with a sigh, his eyes refocusing. He looked over at her, his hair all mussed, suit dusty, expression changing from intent to quizzical. "What's so funny?"

Rose bit her nail and shook her head, taking in his rumpled state. Mmmm...that hair. "Nothin,'" she mumbled, but she couldn't stop grinning.

One of these days, she vowed, she'd get him to finish the description of what he might do once he had her strapped to that chair.


	2. Relieving The Tension II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor can't stop thinking about his faux pas in the library...and how it's having an unintended effect on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-chapter thing, but I had enough interest here and over at Teaspoon that I thought maybe a second chapter was merited. 
> 
> Certain not to be my last "the Doctor loses control in public" fic. The idea has been plaguing me a lot recently if I'm honest. :D

***

The truth was that he and Rose were such good mates that the Doctor sometimes forgot that Rose didn't see things the way he did; that she hadn't always been with him, suffering the same pangs and disappointments, learning to repress herself in the same ways he had. And then she'd say something suggestive or he'd see just a little too much of her leg when she wore something she hadn't before and he would quickly remember that she was not the same, not at all, and that his defenses were in danger.

She was human. Humans were impulsive and a little base, but vibrant, and he loved their vibrancy. They also had every right to be the way they were...it just made biological sense that creatures who live for such a short amount of time would have short fuses and few filters; they had no time to waste.

The problem was that she was tempting him to let go of his _own_ restrictions. 

Like right now, for instance. He had no business remembering their earlier conversation right at this particular moment as he stood in the shower. The very act of showering leaves one a bit vulnerable; muscles are loosened under the steam, the mind is temporarily freed from obligation, barriers fall. Things are...accessible.

The shock he'd seen on her face and its slow replacement with a smug, calculating smile after he'd illuminated her on how female hysteria was once treated. And what she'd insinuated that she...did...after difficult missions, playing off his little history lesson, turning it against him.

He gulped and scrubbed his hair harder, thinking perhaps he should rush through this particular shower.

How stupid could he be? Suggesting he might strap her to a chair and...Rassilon forbid he'd finished that sentence!

How _would_ he have finished that sentence, exactly?

Rose, strapped to a chair...his mind began to conjure the image, and the Doctor sighed in exasperation and turned the shower off a little too forcefully, climbing out as if he could also turn off his thoughts.

Or his body.

No, no. Ha! Of course not his _body_. That would imply he was turned on. Rose had been kidding with him, pulling his leg....

_Her legs tied to the chair legs...._

He briskly toweled his hair dry and pulled on some pants and his dressing gown, willing his mind to go blank. 

Yes, too late. Right. He sat on his bed, desperately trying to will away his physical reaction. He sighed, bounced his leg, wiped his mouth with his hand, counted to a thousand in Gallifreyan. 

Still a problem. He'd have to wait it out. If he tried to do something about it the solution would only be temporary; starting down that path would only mean inviting future disaster. He'd almost given in, once, in his last body. He'd woken up late at night from a vivid dream in a similar state of...distress...and (he blamed his lack of being fully conscious; if he'd had complete control of his mental faculties and had time to think things through he never would have given in, surely) began to explore the friction that might go a long way toward solving his...no pun intended...pressing need. Rather than pressing, though, it had been more like...stroking.

And then he'd realized what he was doing and his hands shot to his sides, clutching his sheets. He could feel his ears and face flaming even in the dark, even though there was no one around to witness his momentary lapse of control.

But for a moment it had been _fantastic._ Stopping had actually been physically painful. All that following day he felt that the pain wouldn't leave him, and more than once he'd considered sneaking off to relieve it, but he shut himself down immediately every time the thought tried to assert itself. Ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous.

Ridiculous...right. He bit his lip, bouncing his leg again, hands clasping the edge of his mattress. Not thinking of Rose.

There was a knock on his door. The Doctor shot off the bed and stood to attention as though he'd been caught red-handed actually doing what he was very much _not_ doing. "Yes?" he called, a little too brightly.

"Doctor?" It was Rose, of course, Rose being the only other one on board. "We're still going out, right? If I have to sit in here any longer...."

She was restless. He could sympathize. They hadn't had a lot of down time lately, and what down time they'd _had_ had been spent with him under the console and her on the jump seat doing whatever she did while he fixed wires and re-routed information through the TARDIS. They really hadn't had any semblance of fun, so it must feel unbearable for her to just sit around waiting for their next adventure.

He opened his door and offered her a smile. "Yep. I'll be right out, just need to get dressed."

There was a brief moment when they pretended not to look each other over, each wondering if the other was looking them over.

"You look..." the Doctor hesitated, reaching for the right thing to say, "...ready to go out." She was dressed in (very short, his mind groaned) shorts, glittery flip-flops, and a very form-fitting pink top. He'd said casual summer wear would do.

Rose gave him a wry smile. "That makes one of us."

"Mmm?" He roused himself from his appraisal and looked down at his dressing gown. "Right. Two minutes." He closed the door without further hesitation and threw on his blue suit, fervently begging his anatomy to stay cooperative. By the time he had his coat on he felt more like his normal self.

***

The Doctor had promised to take Rose to an Andruvian play; they were famous for their raucousness, much like Shakespeare's plays had been on 17th century Earth. They could eat dinner while enjoying the show. The bonus was that humans were more than welcome on Andruvia, not even glanced at twice. There was little to no danger of running into trouble on their much-needed, low-key outing.

There was a line, but there was also plenty of seating. Unfortunately they still got stuck at the back of the room. The Doctor gave Rose a sheepish look. "Sorry," he said. "Guess I took a bit too long getting ready. I wanted better seats for us."

Rose was surprisingly relaxed about it. "'S'okay, Doctor," she said, smiling warmly and slipping her hand into his on top of the white tablecloth. "It's normally me who takes too long. Guess it was your turn."

He smiled back at her good-naturedly, a bubble of almost overwhelming happiness rising in the center of his chest. It was a feeling he'd only become used to since Rose had joined him in his travels. He tried to just enjoy the sensation rather than dissecting it, but he was pretty sure that he knew what it meant. 

He squeezed her hand softly, and they were interrupted in their ridiculous grinning and gazing by a rather elephantine waiter. "Drinks?" it inquired smoothly.

"Your best glass of wine," Rose said without hesitation, flashing a dazzling smile.

"Water is fine," the Doctor said, and promptly felt Rose's elbow in his arm. He looked over at her. "What?"

"C'mon, Doctor. Live a little. Fun, remember? We're having fun."

"But alcohol doesn't...."

She wasn't buying it. "You can control that. Shut off your..." she appeared to fish for the right phrasing, "'defense system' for a minute, yeah?"

"Very well. I'll have what she's having," the Doctor said. 

Rose was giggling madly as the waiter walked away.

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "What?" He looked around them to see if he could spot whatever it was he'd missed.

"Have you ever seen 'When Harry Met Sally?'" she asked, still giggling like a right nutter.

"Ahhh..." the Doctor was baffled, his brow still furrowed. "Can't say that I have."

"Well, it's this movie with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal, yeah, and they're in a delicatessen in New York City, and she's trying to make a point to him about how women can fake their pleasure in the bedroom. He insists it's never happened to him, so she pretends she's having an orgasm right there in the deli, and when she's done the woman at the next table says, 'I'll have what she's having.'" She was still chuckling.

"Oh," the Doctor breathed. "Um...that's...."

Rose looked at him, really looked at him, and then felt bad. He was floundering; he had absolutely no clue how he should respond to what she just said.

"Ya know," she said, shrugging one shoulder and playing with her earring, "just a movie."

The Doctor nodding, smiling a forced, polite little smile, and then they both became busy looking anywhere but at each other.

"So," Rose finally blurted, desperate to end the awkward silence, "what's this play about, then?"

The Doctor smiled with genuine relief. "Oh, that's the best part. It's all improv. A comedy. The actors are given props and they make up stories to go along with them. The show is never the same two times in a row. The actors themselves don't even know which props they'll be given beforehand, so it's all completely unrehearsed."

"Oh, that's fun!"

The waiter came back with their drinks and both the Doctor and Rose immediately sipped eagerly. Each caught a glimpse of the other doing it out the corner of their eye, and they both giggled at the obvious tension. They could never stay uncomfortable with each other for long; something like this always happened to disrupt it.

The waiter smiled at their camaraderie. "Ready to order?" it asked. Rose tried to decide whether it was male or female, but quickly gave up and just prayed she wouldn't offend it somehow.

They placed their orders (this time the Doctor did not order what Rose was having) and the waiter left them to their drinks. They chatted pleasantly together about their recent adventures and where they might go next until their food was delivered and the lights were dimmed slightly around them. The stage lights came up so that the play could begin.

Since they were so relaxed now and on their second glasses of wine, and the play didn't need to be followed very closely as there was no complicated plot, the Doctor saw his opportunity and went for it; something had been bothering him all day.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers without lifting it from the table. 

Rose had her eyes on the stage, but she lowered her fork, swallowed, and looked at him questioningly. "For what? You've got nothing to apologize for, Doctor."

"Hmmm, well," he said, tilting his head from side to side, "I was thinking about what I said this morning in the library. It was inappropriate and juvenile. I forgot myself. I'm sorry if I offended you."

A huge smile broke across her face. _"Offended_ me? Don't be ridiculous, Doctor...it was hilarious."

"Oh," he said, smiling gratefully. "Good. I suppose it was."

"Besides, it sparked my curiosity," Rose said, returning her eyes to the stage and raising her glass for another drink.

"Beg pardon?"

"You got me thinking about what you'd do to me in that chair," Rose teased, winking at him.

The Doctor's mouth fell open a little, his cheeks warming slightly.

Rose very casually pretended not to notice, looking away again. "You should tell me some time."

"T...tell you?" he felt something under the table and jumped in his seat. Rose's hand was on his knee. 

"Yeah. You were sharing your knowledge with me. I like when you do that," Rose said, then laughed hard at something that had just happened on stage.

The Doctor felt like a caged animal. He looked at the stage, trying to follow the plot and see if he could figure out what had just happened that was so funny, but his thoughts were all over the place. Rose's hand was hot on his leg. She'd sat back a bit and now it was a little higher than his knee. 

His mouth was dry. He took a drink. "Um...Rose...."

"Yeah?" she laughed again as one of the actors pretended to punch another out and swipe his coveted prop.

"Your hand...."

"Yeah? We touch all the time." She was completely unperturbed.

Her fingers twitched slightly against the inside of his leg just above his knee, and the Doctor once again felt a little flush of warmth...but this one traveled lower. If he didn't set things right he was going to quickly start sending the wrong message. He shifted a little in his chair, and her hand traveled slightly higher, tightening as she looked at him with concern. 

"You okay?"

 _Maybe if your hand wasn't where it is,_ he thought, but he smiled tightly. "Just fine."

"This wine is fantastic," Rose said, eying her glass with interest.

"Mmm hmm," he agreed. 

As if the waiter had heard, he came over and began to pour again. Rose eagerly let him, but the Doctor put his hand over the top of his glass. Rose removed her hand from his leg (thank god) to knock his hand away (not good). "Trust me," she said to the waiter, "he's uptight. He wants more."

After the waiter had left, the Doctor gave her an affronted look. "I'm not uptight."

"Oh?" Rose smiled wickedly and slid her hand suggestively onto his leg again, causing him to push his chair back a little in an automatic attempt to get away. "Tell me, then."

"Rose, I...this is...tell you what?"

She rolled her eyes. "What you would do, silly. If you had me..." her hand traveled dangerously higher, her knuckles on the verge of making history on uncharted territory (and oh how he wanted her to), "strapped to a chair."

He wasn't breathing quite normally, Rose noted. He was looking at the stage, pretending to watch, but his mind was obviously racing. 

Good. He _should_ get a dose of what she felt, day in and day out, traveling with him and his stupid sexy glasses and his oblivious flirtations. If he really was sorry, then his discomfort could serve as punishment for his crime. 

"I...." the Doctor turned slightly in his chair to look at her, then changed his mind and glanced around them. He moved his chair in a little closer to hers. Rose would have liked to interpret this as an invitation, but she knew him too well; he was afraid someone was going to witness their risque behavior. He looked at her again and wet his dry lips. 

Rose quirked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Is this really...the place?" the Doctor asked, a bit breathless. He looked absolutely frightened.

Rose shrugged innocently. "We're only having an academic discussion."

Her hand didn't feel very academic. Unless it was, in fact, trying to learn more about him...which it was going to do very shortly, he realized, partly with dread and partly with impatient anticipation. He looked her over, evaluating her mood. She was a little flushed from the wine, and from...well, he recognized human arousal when he saw it. She _was_ toying with him, or pretending to, but she definitely meant what she was saying; she wanted to know. She wanted him to basically admit to his fantasy right here in this theatre. 

A fantasy he hadn't known he had, even when he'd been describing it to her earlier. The problem was that now he was aware of the effect the imagined scenario could have on him, and he could see a little too much of her cleavage, and her hand was...so hot on his leg....

The Doctor squirmed in his seat again. Rose looked pointedly at his glass, her chin in her hand. She was no longer watching the play; only him. 

He gladly took the hint and took a long drink from his glass. He swallowed slowly to give himself a couple more seconds to think, but the wine swirled in and hit him heavily right about then. He hadn't let down his alcohol barriers in ages; he was going to be a very cheap date.

"I would...." he began, and hesitated, looking at her. 

The humor had left her face and her eyes were soft and curious, anxious, even. She was watching him with great interest, her soft lips parted slightly. Her fingers caressed the inside of his thigh lightly, encouraging him to continue. 

"Well, you know," he whispered. 

"Illuminate me," she murmured, that expression never leaving her face.

He cleared his throat. Around them people laughed, absorbed in the play. Even the waiter had paused in its rounds to watch, smiling, still clutching the bottle of wine.

He leaned in a little closer to her and said, confidentially, "Suppose I would need to tie your hands behind you." _What are you doing?_ his mind screamed at him frantically. His physical issue had reasserted itself...rather enthusiastically...and if the Doctor was capable of analyzing his own actions any further right then he supposed he would have acknowledged that his brain was not the thing in the driver's seat.

Rose licked her lips, and he watched. Intensely. The air grew heavier between them.

"Yeah?" she whispered. "Then?" her fingertips brushed, very very lightly, against the seam of his trousers, right about where his testicles were.

The Doctor forced himself not to jump back at this sudden intrusion. His chest felt very constricted. He fought to breathe normally as all his blood was rerouted. "Then...uhm...your ankles. I would...." another brush of her fingers, and he shivered, officially not breathing. "...tie those too."

"Forgetting something?" she suggested.

"Hmm..huh?"

"Knickers," she growled softly, and the Doctor's next sparse breath was drawn in with a shudder.

He swallowed heavily. "Forgot about those."

"Oh," she said, leaning her temple against her fist, eyes dark, face dead serious. "So did I."

The Doctor closed his eyes, trying to find a thread of sanity that could clarify for him right now exactly what his next action should be. His mouth continued on without him. "So in this..." _(fantasy)_ "...scenario...you're not wearing any...?"

"That too," she answered lightly, "but I also meant now."

"Oh...Rose...I can't...."

She suddenly slid her hand over the very prominent bulge in his trousers and squeezed him softly, making him gasp. "Feels like you can."

He opened his eyes again and pursed his lips. 

Rose would have smiled at his expression, at his burning gaze, but she was too far gone now. She hadn't known she could have this effect on him, and she knew she was taking a _huge_ risk with their friendship, but somehow deep down she knew the Doctor was able to stay professional if nothing else. If he'd wanted to he could have stopped her and woken up tomorrow morning and treated her like none of this had ever happened, but that wasn't the choice he was making. And oh, thank god.

So she unbuttoned his trousers and slid the zipper down slowly, relishing the way his breath sped up.

The Doctor slouched in his chair, appearing to get comfortable, surreptitiously sweeping the crowd with his gaze to see if they were being noticed. 

No one was the least bit aware, not the least bit concerned with what the couple in the back corner might be doing with their hands under the table.

"Go on," Rose said, rubbing him softly over his briefs. "What would you do then, _Doctor?"_

He emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a soft groan as her hand continued its exploration. "Kneel in front of you and...slide the vibrator under your...short skirt." 

_You've lost your mind,_ he told himself.

Rose _tsked._ "Doesn't sound very medical, that." She finally slid him from his briefs and stroked his silky length with one strong, confident maneuver, twisting her wrist a little at the end.

The Doctor's breath caught audibly. "That's...oh...."

Rose tightened her thighs together under the table, enjoying the friction of her shorts against her nakedness. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this...much less in this setting. But his face, his breath, his reactions...they were driving her mad.

She stroked him again a few more times, watching as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She was about to prompt him again when he said, "I'd run it over your slit until you were wet enough and then insert it...."

Rose was having a bit of difficulty breathing herself now. Finally, finally, she felt the Doctor's hand in her lap. She could have cried with relief. He began to trace the inner border of her shorts with the tip of his index finger, very softly. 

Rose brushed her thumb through the wetness at his tip and used it to tease the head of his cock, swirling very slowly and softly. 

The Doctor was putty. All coherent thought had flown out the window. Their dinner sat in front of them, long since vanished from the list of priorities. All he could think about now was finding out if she'd been telling the truth. He slid his finger under the border of her skimpy shorts and brushed against her naked lips, and he couldn't help the small whimper that escaped him when he felt how slick she was. Thankfully it was drowned out by another ironic wave of laughter from the audience. He couldn't help but push himself into her hand as she stroked him again. 

He pushed his finger further under her tight shorts, teasing her entrance. "I would...thrust...." he echoed his sentiment with his action, felt himself throb as his finger sank into her heat. She clenched. Beside him she was pursing her own lips now in an effort to stay silent.

Rose was having difficulty with her angle now because his arm was getting in her way. Reluctantly, she tugged at his hand. He sensed the issue and withdrew slowly, frustrated. He raised his hand and turned her face toward him, using the fingers that weren't sticky, and when their eyes met he drew his hand back and sucked on the finger he'd had inside her a moment earlier. He watched her eyes grow desperate. The hand she had wrapped around his cock picked up speed, and he felt everything tighten dangerously, partly from the friction and partly from the way she tasted. It was heaven. He hummed his approval at the flavor, and a moment later had to drop his free hand to clutch her wrist in warning. He was about to make a real mess. 

Rose reached for her wine glass and knocked it over. "Shit," she muttered, watching the liquid spill over the side of the table. "Sorry," she said, grabbing her napkin. What she did next wasn't terribly subtle or effective, if anyone had been paying attention: she got down on the floor to wipe at the spill, then ducked underneath the tablecloth. A moment later he felt her soft wet tongue on his length and he was clutching her hair gently but frantically with one hand, encouraging her as she sucked him in a way he'd never dared to let himself contemplate, even after waking from dreams of a similar theme. He grunted softly, his free hand making a fist on top of the table, trying not to shake too visibly as he came hard in her mouth. He quickly, casually downed the rest of his wine, trembling. He was sorry to feel Rose withdraw after a moment.

She made her appearance above the table, her wine-soaked napkin in her hand. "There," she said. "That's better."

The Doctor adjusted himself under the table, zipped and buttoned his trousers. He felt euphoric. "Rose?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"That," he said, raising his arm so he could caress the back of her neck lovingly as he looked at her, "was _brilliant._ "

She grinned. 

"Can we go back to the TARDIS?" his gaze was pleading. "I really need to continue this."

Rose bit her lip in an unbearably sexy way (especially now that he knew where that mouth had been a minute ago), and nodded, eyes sparkling.

The Doctor raised his hand and made a universal gesture at their waiter. "Check please!"

***


	3. Relieving The Tension III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had some interest shown in a third chapter, so here you go. After this I'll probably just give up and start a series of one-shot smut scenarios. ;) Let me know what you think, if you're so inclined.  
>   
> Also...this turned out a little angstier than I had expected. It took me a long time to write this third part because I couldn't find the right tone. In the end I tried to be true to how I imagined the Doctor would react to this turn of events. I hope you'll enjoy it.  
> 

***

As they headed back toward the TARDIS, the Doctor became inexplicably shy. Rose sensed it in the way his hand tightened slightly on hers and his pace slowed.

She turned to look at him as they stood just outside the box. He looked horribly conflicted, and the look wasn't lost on her. She could recognize it for what it was: he felt he was doing something wrong, perhaps had already done irreversible damage to their arrangement as Doctor and Companion.

"You all right?" she asked him softly.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and his eyes flickered from her face to his trainers as he rocked casually on his heels. "It's just...this. I...." He shrugged. "Time Lords, really, in general...they don't _do_ this."

"What about what the _Doctor_ wants?" Rose's voice was still gentle, her eyes warm and understanding.

A little grin flickered at the corner of his lips. "Oh, the Doctor wants this."

But for years and years, he _hadn't_ done it. His smile faded. He wasn't certain if his fright stemmed more from performance anxiety or years of ingrained discipline or the awkwardness of engaging in physical activity for pleasure, which he had been taught was pointless. He understood the mechanics of how it was all supposed to happen, of course...of _course_...but there would be no going back after this. It wasn't just a momentary foray into pleasure or a little lapse in judgment. The Doctor didn't do things willy-nilly. And he had a responsibility to Rose to think about.

He licked his dry lips, his gaze flicking back and forth from her mouth to her eyes as though he was perhaps reliving what had just happened. Or so Rose imagined. So often there was just no way inside the Doctor's head; you'd be certain you knew what he was thinking and then he'd start talking about something so unrelated to the events at hand that you felt sorry for the speed his synapses had to maintain bouncing all those thoughts and ideas from one point to the other.

"Doctor?"

His head was down-tilted, but he raised his eyes questioningly, hands still in his pockets. "Hmm?"

She came a few steps closer to him, heat and need and a desire to completely undo him sweeping through her. "You've already come in my mouth."

His gaze turned smoldering. It was a subtle darkening of the eyes, but she saw it clearly. It reminded her of the look of determination he sometimes got when he'd decided that whatever he was up against was going down hard.

In another moment his hands had been withdrawn from his pockets and he had taken two steps toward her to bridge the gap and he was kissing her again, his surrender clear in the sudden confidence underlying his actions. It was fantastic: all light lips and breath. Soft and wet, but without tongues, as though the power of their emotions would only allow them to just enjoy the moment as the barrier between them fell. It was momentous, and momentous things often built in increments until they became unstoppable.

He tasted sweet, Rose thought. She couldn't quite pinpoint what it was...there just seemed to be a hint of sugar about him. Very fitting. She almost grinned as she considered how much he would have hated this idea in his previous body.

The Doctor wrapped one arm around her waist almost possessively, the other traveling through her hair to cup the back of her head, sighing in such a longing way that Rose felt a wave of love stronger than anything she'd ever felt flow through her. She'd never heard anything like it from him; couldn't even have imagined it. She fisted her hands in the back of his suit jacket beneath his coat (far too many layers) as he made the first move to deepen the kiss. 

That was when the tone changed: he could taste himself in her mouth, and it reminded him of why they were coming back to the TARDIS in the first place. Well, not that he'd forgotten...but for a moment he'd become painfully aware that he'd left his bravery behind just before exiting the theatre. As soon as he'd walked out into the open air, doubt had begun to creep in: he had watched Rose walking purposefully, confidently, ahead of him, completely trusting. She seemed so sure that he could do this...so certain that it was the natural progression of things. And suddenly he'd felt so horrified. He'd let his rules slip and had taken advantage of a situation she could never possibly grasp fully. She was so young and so mortal, and he was so old and relentless and damaged. This was all fun and games and romance to her, but he understood the danger inherent to their relationship.

But he loved her.

And so she'd looked at him, asked him that question, and drawn nearer to him, and regardless of her insinuations she was so sweet, and it was summer after all and the air was full of promise, and he seemed for a moment not to be old anymore...just a boy standing with a girl, about to share what was an inevitable kiss after all. Who he was on the outside was more than a beautiful illusion, right? Because eventually, in every incarnation, even he began to buy into what he saw.

Now she was breathing a little heavier, her hands growing warm and sweaty against the back of his shirt, and he knew her lips were reddening with the urgency of their kiss, and he he felt himself hardening against her hip like a randy teenager.

Rose pressed into him, demonstrating that she had noticed, and he nipped her bottom lip softly.

"I didn't think you could want me," she whispered.

"Wh... _what?_ "

He looked her in the eye, saw the smoky shadows of melting mascara and eyeliner beneath her bottom lashes, and felt his stomach drop under her heated gaze. It was a sensation he sometimes felt at the moment of entering the vortex.

"In the theatre...when I touched you and you were..." her voice dropped so innocently and she sounded so awe-struck that it was all he could do to hold onto the thin illusion that he wasn't a perverse old man, "...hard...I was surprised. I didn't know if you...you know." She licked her lips and he watched the path her tongue took with a horrible, tortured fascination, "If you ever wanted physical...pleasure...."

He actually caught the beginning of a laugh welling up in him and saw the confusion flicker through her eyes. He fought his impulse, biting his lips to try to quell his grin. He was less than successful. "Rose Tyler...you think I never thought about you?"

His voice was soft and awed in the way she'd heard it when he'd discussed far-off worlds and seeing amazing things for the first time; in the way he got when he was systematically dissecting a problem in someone's unbelievably faulty logic. 

Her response was, therefore, less than certain. "No?"

His smile disappeared. "I am so, so sorry Rose," he said. Something in his eyes stilled, like a whole solar system slowing to a dead stop. There were any number of connotations to this apology: he'd taken her from her home, he'd let her doubt what he felt for her...he'd never yet admitted he loved her. Somehow Rose knew everything he was apologizing for. She watched this stillness occur, helpless to say or do anything. She was very suddenly and very forcefully struck completely dumb with her feelings for him. Because none of it _mattered._ She'd do everything she'd done, and more, for him. She knew he felt the same. In this moment, especially, she knew it.

She realized she was holding her breath at precisely the moment his lips met hers again, and she heard a sound behind her as he unlocked the TARDIS. It was the sound of a decision being made. She was amazed at how aroused that sound made her.

He held her close and backed her inside. "You want to know, Rose," he murmured, his voice humid between their lips, "if I ever wanted you. The answer is yes." The tip of his nose traced over hers and he asked playfully, "So, you wanted me?"

She pulled back just a little and he could see the hesitation in her eyes. He knew what it meant: she was afraid to scare him away. He could read her so much better than she knew. That was part of the charm of her...part of the curse of him.

"Well? Did you ever..." he backed her into a coral strut and planted a warm, sensual kiss at the corner of her lips, "imagine this part of the proceedings when you were thinking about what you might do to me in a public theatre?" A teasing, mischievous half-smile quirked at the corner of his lips.

Rose was well aware that this was the Doctor's not-so-subtle way of getting his ego stroked, but she wasn't in the mood for teasing. It deserved stroking, along with the rest of him. She grasped the lapels of his suit jacket, looking up at him through her lashes. "You have no idea how many times."

His gaze softened, a needy little breath escaping him as he stumbled into her pull and eagerly engaged her in another kiss. This one was frantic from the get-go, and any shyness or hesitation on either side had clearly fallen by the wayside by the time he had encouraged one of her legs to wrap around his waist. His hand slid down across her bottom and he felt his brain turn to liquid as she rocked steadily against him in a thrilling preview of coming attractions. He thought quickly with what little mental capacity was left to him, trying to come up with the best possible way for this to unfold. Eventually he realized he had failed and had, for the space of about a minute, fallen to panting against her lips and murmuring very quiet but very lewd encouragements. 

"Oh, Rose, that's...good god I want to fuck you...."

It was as though he had suddenly dissociated from himself, had floated away and was left to watch helplessly as some hormonal stranger took his place to practically shag Rose through her clothing. He knew a fair bit about psychology and knew this was his way of dealing with the emotional stress: as much as he wanted this, he also wasn't certain how to handle it, or the potential fallout. He also seemed unable to put a stop to it. For once he wasn't running away, didn't want to run away, certainly hadn't run away back there in the theatre, and he was...was...

so tired of fighting his body's needs, was what he was. Ever since he'd met Rose he'd felt a mild frustration rising, a vague discomfort. At first he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, it had been so long since he'd felt it, but now it had built to the point of no return. Whether it was the passage of time that had made it necessary--or Rose herself, which was his fervent belief--this was happening. Had to happen. _Right now._

Somehow he'd coaxed her vest top over her head and discarded it. She'd undone all of his buttons and was running her hands over his chest, touching his naked skin, making every little muscle under the surface jump in surprise under the unfamiliarity of another's touch. The feeling was both unsettling and comforting, if it was possible that those two things coincide. 

He kissed along her jaw line, unfastening her lovely pink bra and tossing it away. He took in the view: her pert nipples, and her stomach flat enough that from this downward-peering angle he just about had a view into her shorts through the little gap between fabric and flesh. And he knew very well she had no knickers on; that had been confirmed.

She had managed to get her hand between them enough to unbutton his trousers, and he kicked off his trainers now and hurriedly stepped out of his pinstripes. He stepped closer to her but she raised a placating hand and placed it against his chest, looking far too in control for his liking. She was taking the reigns. She obviously had the plan that he had failed to come up with, so now she grabbed him by his tie (which she had somehow neglected to remove though his shirt was flapping open), and led him down the hall. He followed willingly, long past resistance, long past--even--feeling ridiculous wearing only his briefs and unbuttoned shirt, which he would have been if he'd been less carried away.

Less carried away he was not.

Rose was leading him...toward his bedroom. She'd never actually been in his bedroom. He quirked an eyebrow when he realized where they were headed, but of course she couldn't see that. Fact was he wasn't entirely certain the TARDIS would _let_ her in his room. She was sort of forbidden to let anyone in other than him.

He was wrong. The TARDIS was obviously in cahoots with Rose. His door swung... _wide open._

He sent a mental scowl to his ship. Not a terribly strong one, though.

Rose paused inside his room, taking it in. "Wow," she said.

The Doctor had been staring at her frankly fantastic bottom. "Hmm?"

"It's...clean," Rose said. 

"What did you expect?" He was genuinely curious.

"Sort of thought there'd be bits and bobs everywhere. I thought it'd be like...bein' inside your head."

He chuckled, but the smile left his face quickly as he grasped her arms and turned her around to face him. "I can show you what's in my head." 

He saw the exact moment her curiosity switched off and her arousal peaked. "Yeah?" Her voice was breathy.

He backed her over to his bed and she stumbled abruptly onto it, taken off guard in the unfamiliar surroundings. Even before she finished bouncing the Doctor's curiosity got the better of him, as usual, and he had to start asking questions, as usual. 

"Why did you choose _my_ room?"

She grinned. "Is that a problem?" She hooked the heels of her feet into the backs of his knees, knocking him off-balance. He fell, but managed to put his hands out in front of him so that he caught his weight on his arms. Reflexes like a cat. Except that he didn't much care for cats.

"No. I suppose not...I mean...." He grinned. "Just not used to having anyone here. Wasn't sure she'd even let you in."

He didn't need to specify who "she" was. "She" was an unspoken constant in their lives.

"You and your curiosity. Inconvenient timing," Rose complained teasingly. She pulled on his tie again and his lips hovered over hers as he fit himself firmly between her thighs. She sighed softly. "I thought you would be more comfortable here."

He wasn't the only one psychologically evaluating himself, then. Somehow that actually made him feel better. "Rose...."

She didn't want any more talk, apparently. She rocked her hips, and whatever he'd been about to say was cancelled by the friction. His eyes fluttered closed. Instinctually he echoed her maneuvering, pleased to find that he actually still had some instinct when it came to this. 

He slid his hand down and roughly unbuttoned her shorts. Her breath sped up. 

The Doctor slid back to kneel at the side of the bed, peeling her shorts quickly down her smooth legs. He tossed them to the other side of the room and moved back up her body, teasing her with his warm breath on his way up, letting her feel it between her thighs, across her stomach, over one nipple. Humid. Not touching. He hovered over her lips and she raised her head toward him, but he pulled back slightly, whether to prolong the moment or drive her crazy, Rose couldn't tell.

She wasn't having it. She flipped him, abruptly and with surprising strength, and pressed him back into his bed, which was neatly made. He sank into the blue duvet with a comical look on his face and she yanked the knot from his tie before backing up to slide his briefs down his legs. She was less of a tease on the way back up, taking her time at least enough to lick the inside of his thigh, then trail the tip of her tongue lightly over the shaft of his cock, causing a few more drops of precome to pearl up at its tip. He bit his bottom lip, riding a crest of desire mixed with fear, the combination of which was somehow intoxicating. And she seemed to know. 

Rose bypassed the obvious maneuver of swallowing him down, opting instead to trail tender kisses over his abdomen and chest. She stopped only to nip lightly at his collarbone and suck briefly on the side of his neck against his pulse points, but then hovered over his lips, her hands on his shoulders, massaging him soothingly. Her hands stroked upward, fingertips lightly brushing his neck, and then she was stroking his sideburns. She seemed to be taking in his whole face at once. He had the distinct impression she was recording this moment, filing it away. She opened her mouth, once, as if to say something, but then closed it and kissed him tenderly instead. He returned the kiss, painfully aware that there was nothing between them now--no fabric, no secrets, nothing to hinder them. They were beyond the point of no return...and it felt so good. So wrong, but so good. He was willing to sacrifice the wrong for the good.

Even as he thought this, she lowered her weight onto him, and he could feel her heat, feel how wet she was, right where he needed her to be. He rocked his hips impatiently, all coherent thought fleeing his mind. He growled deep in his chest and Rose pulled both knees onto the bed, one planted on each side of him, and took him in hand to line him up with her.

There was a moment, then, when their eyes met, and it was something new, something just between them, something just as old as he was, something....

She sank down slowly onto him and he arched off the bed slightly with the pleasure of it, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Perfect. Something perfect.

"Rose," he groaned, his hands flailing up to clutch at her thighs. He shivered all over and she lowered herself as far as she could, leaning to press her breasts against his chest so she could whisper against his lips.

"It's okay." 

It was what he needed to hear. She was the only law he needed to follow.

She began to move against him, tenderness becoming need, and he met her with short, urgent thrusts of his own, determined to give her all the pleasure he could before he lost himself in his own.

Rose began making little sounds, sharp little exclamations each time he drove up to meet the rolling slide of her hips against him. He caressed her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly enough to bother her into a state of exasperation which only served to make her slicker around him, and she smiled knowingly at him through a curtain of her soft blonde hair, her eyes sparkling the same way they did during missions when they met each other's gaze and thought conspiratorily, "Damn, we're good."

"God," he murmured, rocking, not believing in any divinity but believing most firmly in this moment. He wanted to say something more, but panted instead.

Rose clenched from the inside and slid down on him purposefully, and his nails bit into the skin of her thighs. He could hardly stand it; it almost seemed as though she intended to end this before they'd even begun. "Oh fuck," he gasped, meaning it as a warning. He felt a sweat break out across his skin.

She trailed her nose softly along his as he'd done to her earlier, and her breath hit his face, and it was somehow the most erotic thing he could have imagined. Until she said his name as her eyes squeezed shut with pleasure. Then that became the most erotic thing he could have imagined.

And then she began repeating it in a litany, changing her rhythm to shorter thrusts, bouncing her buttocks against her heels. She was very close. He suddenly knew it, and with a confidence he hadn't known he possessed he pressed his thumb between her legs and began to rub delicate circles around her clit, alternating the pressure unpredictably as though he already knew exactly what it would take to get her off.

Rose opened her eyes and watched the Doctor, watched the way his gaze softened along with his mouth, watched the urgency appearing behind his eyes, which were almost always guarded to some degree. She decided that his nakedness had nothing to do with the state of his dress. She was really seeing him now, from the tenderness in his face to the vulnerability in the set of his lips and the feeling of his fingertips on her skin, and those things were what caused her to crest violently over the edge, caused the stars to open up above her and swallow her as if they'd never let her back down again. When she cried out it was with the tone of one who knew he could be millions of light-years away but he wasn't. He was here. With her.

He seemed to hear everything in her cry; for a moment she could have sworn he could, whether it was through the ephemeral telepathy he never fully bothered to explain or through an intellectual telepathy borne from knowing her so well. She couldn't say which it was, but his eyes widened a little, and it seemed to her that it was more than pleasure at her tone. It was realization, perhaps. She momentarily discovered that they had flipped places on the mattress and that he was above her, stroking urgently into her, and she was sensitized and soaked and could feel every inch of him move, and her throat seemed to close under his gaze and she could hardly make a sound; all her pleasure was building somewhere deep in her chest, more a force of feeling than sound. She watched him build up to his own orgasm, watched him first gasp and then moan with the enormity of it, watched his lips pull back from his teeth and his eyes fall shut and the fringe of his hair tremble as he did, and he clutched her tightly as he fell against her chest, their damp skin pressing together with a sense of finality as though this connection could never be severed.

The Doctor was quite accustomed to beautiful illusions. But he refused to let himself think about that.

Rose was murmuring softly to him as if to comfort him, holding him and rubbing his shoulder blades as if she knew something he didn't, which was definitely a turn of events. And maybe she did, because if he wasn't mistaken, that was a tear sliding down his cheek. He thought about hiding it, and then decided he'd rather just lie there with her, in her arms, until it was time to move. He didn't know when that would be.

He didn't care.

He stroked his hands softly along her belly, along her hips. He tried to tell her with his touch. He tried to tell her.


End file.
